Epilogue
Six months later
I climb out of the deep sleep of anesthesia. It’s a thick fog blanketing my awareness. I’m floating in a waking dream. I lift an arm and place my hand on my chest.
It falls on a pair of new breasts.
Hello, bonjour, hola. I say hi to the new girls. The reconstruction surgery is over.
This is it then. The journey is done. I survived and I thrived. I did it. I did.
I try to peel open my eyes. The fluorescent hospital light sends sparks over my eyes. They look like twinkle lights. The twinkle lights at a wedding.
There are people around me. I can sense them in the room with me. Jack should be here. He said he would be here.
“I love you,” I say. I float a bit more and the room spins. A sense of déjà vu overcomes me.
Jack should be here. Why isn’t he answering?
